


End of the Line

by Katie993



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22552165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katie993/pseuds/Katie993
Summary: The one who would always make the sacrifice play when it mattered.
Kudos: 3





	End of the Line

He could sense Bucky at his back. They were as efficient as they had ever been, expertly disabling a large group of Thanos’ troops, knowing one another’s next move before it was made. Several advancing bodies dropped to the ground before Steve even had the chance to lift his shield or wield Mjolnir, which remained gripped tightly in his other hand. He caught sight of Sam streaking across the sky above and made a note to thank him for the air support once it was all over – adding it to the list of things he had to tell Sam. The man he hadn’t seen in five years. 

'On your left'

He hadn’t believed it, couldn’t. Steve had swivelled on his heels and felt his body waver as he’d searched desperately for the source of the familiar voice – to ensure that it hadn’t instead been manufactured in a dark, cruel corner of his own mind. His eyes had widened, and body sagged in some confusing mix of relief, elation and pure disbelief when his gaze had landed on an even more familiar silhouette emerging from some kind of impossible window that had suddenly materialised in space. One of the many that appeared to be opening. Bucky looked the same as he did the day he was lost, his hair long, suited up in tac-gear that reminded them both of his Howling Commando’s uniform, sharp eyes surveying the ground before him, always quick to assess and mobilise. His gaze was only drawn away a moment later as Sam Wilson, the falcon himself, soared out of the portal above the assassin’s head – never let it be said he didn’t know how to make an entrance. 

There hadn’t been time, hadn’t been words to even begin to explain the previous half-decade, everything that had happened, the fight that had lay ahead of them in that moment. But once they’d reached him, Bucky to his right gripping his shoulder, grounding him if only for a moment and Sam, who had touched down on his left nodding sharply in understanding. He knew it could wait. 

Steve’s thoughts scattered as he focused his gaze across the battlefield. His eyes, assessing his surroundings, had swept over the familiar red and gold armour but backtracked when he realised that something was unfolding…something that required another moment to understand. The glint of the stones that were somehow now on Tony’s person caused Steve’s heart to skip a beat, but it was the grim, resolute determination in Tony’s eyes that caused his blood to run cold. His mind spun as the pieces fell into place and panic began to grow in his chest as he realised alongside the anger and resolve in Tony’s eyes also swirled an acceptance that told Steve he had to move quickly. 

Shield raised he began to push towards his friend, a man he’d stood beside on many battlefields. Steve’s mind reeled with panicked thoughts, as he fought his way forward, he knew what the gauntlet had done to Thanos, the damage the stones had caused him, thoughts of Tony with a tiny girl tucked into his shoulder who had peered curiously up at Steve through thick eyelashes. He saw Morgan and Pepper and the life that Tony had refused to risk and then risked it anyway because it was who he was. Who Tony Stark really was, at the end of the day, at the end of it all. The one who would always make the sacrifice play when it mattered. 

There was hardly time to think but Steve knew he didn’t need it. It couldn’t end like that; he would allow it. It wasn’t fair, it was too cruel. For Tony to lose everything now, now that he had found his life, found himself and the family he had yearned so, so long for. Once he had finally built the only thing that really mattered. To lose all of it because Steve had disrupted his life and asked him for help. He knew that it couldn’t be Tony. There had to be another way; that they would find another way… together. His vision tunnelled to the man who had squared his shoulders.

He couldn’t know how many creatures he had pushed aside and torn through to reach Tony but suddenly he was reaching for his friend, his warmings going unheard in the deafening roar of battle. As he moved to pull Tony to face him, to at least stop him panic exploded in his chest when something hard clamped tightly down on his shoulders and before Steve even had time to react, he was flung backwards. 

'I am…'

The air was knocked from his lungs and his head cracked against stone as he hit the ground hard. Tony’s words echoed in his mind. Only a moment later Steve instinctively rolled to his right avoiding the fire that rained down from above where large ships loomed. His mind, though dazed was quick to catch up and a wave of fear crashed over him as he fought to get up, he had been so close. So close to stopping it, stopping him. It couldn’t all end in Tony’s death. The acceptance of what he had to do had quickly unfolded in his chest after he had realised what had to happen. And what he couldn’t allow to happen - not when he had far less to lose. 

The rock to his left was obliterated and Steve raised what was left of the shield. Explosions rocked the ground below him and pained screams echoed around him. But there was no time, he had to focus. When several bodies turned his way, they were quickly destroyed by Mjolnir, the blasts sent towards him were absorbed by the shield and it was only when a sudden, suffocating silence draped over the battlefield did Steve feel his bones grind to a halt. A silence that was as disorienting as it was disturbing.

He lowered his shield and felt his chest crack open. No. Not again. The sight of the wilting figures, ashy remains that solidified the death and carnage that was in the air. It took several more moments for even Steve, the one always with the first plan of action, which his head around the details to see what was happening, to realise that it was Thanos’ army, the creatures that had amassed that were disintegrating before their eyes. His gaze found Clint pulling Wanda from the ground and Scott who stood not far from T’Challa. 

They were okay. It was over.  
A wide-eyed Peter Parker tripped past him, panic aflame in his eyes. Tony. 

Steve’s chest tightened and he swallowed the rock that lodged itself in his throat and pushed his body upright and off the ground. He had done it, he’d stopped it, he’d ended it all and Steve had been too slow to stop him. To be there when he was needed. He was too late.

He stilled when his eyes rested upon the man whose body was slumped. Rhodey had landed beside him and Pepper had appeared as well. As the battered suit retreated and Tony’s eyes met Peppers, who had leant forward to press a kiss to his forehead, a wave of relief washed over Steve. His skin was largely unmarred, and he was pushing himself upwards. His arm was missing its red armour, but Tony was flexing his fingers before he pulled Pepper towards him. Steve’s gaze fell away to give them their privacy as he was torn between relief and confusion.

As small turn to his left knocked the air from his lungs. His widened eyes stung as they stared unblinkingly at the ground before him. Failing to understand. 

The gauntlet, Tony’s armour, corroded, scorched and blackened was fitted around the remains of a metal arm. The stones glimmered up at him causing bile to rise in his throat, as his stomach twisted painfully, and his deprived lungs began to sting. 

His eyes, for a second, flickered back to Tony before sweeping the ground before him. 

No. 

When he moved his feet felt leaden and stiff as if he had to tear them from the ground with each step.

“No…no, no, no…no Buck?” Steve’s knees landed in the crimson blood that was pooling on the ground beneath Bucky’s prone body. Trying to take in the sight before him and understand what had happened, his mind couldn’t catch up. Not when it was distracted by the metallic smell of blood that was pouring from Bucky’s body, the cavernous wound at his shoulder and the ragged, rasping breaths Bucky was attempting to take. 

Without thinking Steve pushed his palm against the gaping wound that was Bucky’s left side. Steve’s vision spotted slightly when his eyes caught sight of bone. The pressure, however, caused Bucky to rouse, an awful sound ripping from his chest, and Steve forced himself to focus on his friend and not the way his hands hardly spanned the damage. 

“See you kept the stupid after all” Steve gritted out as his eyes locked on Bucky’s hoping that the man was still able to focus his own eyes. Bucky blinked up at him, 

“Did it work?” he rasped, the strained words laced with desperation and effort,

“Did it-” the gasp that punctuated the question told Steve how short of oxygen Bucky was. The expression that worked itself onto his face despite the pain was familiar to Steve despite the five years that had elapsed. It was the same one he had seen hundreds of times. The same one that would contort Bucky’s features as he was jarred out of a nightmare or dropped out of a flashback or was caught in the thick fog that would grip him when he struggled to remember himself. The expression told him that Bucky wasn’t sure if his mind was his own, wasn’t sure who he was or if his decisions were being made by his old self, the winter soldier or whomever had been born from the two. 

Steve lifted his gaze just for a moment to catch sight of the ashy remains that dotted the air but couldn’t find a single remaining creature or body from Thanos’ army. When he peered back down, nodding, he was met with a pleading expression, 

“Yeah Buck” he promised, “yeah, it worked.” Bucky blinked at his words for a moment as if he couldn’t make sense of them. Steve held his gaze firmly even as he could feel the slick heat beneath his hands and clearly hear the rattle of his friend’s chest. Bucky’s eyes slid closed, his jaw working hard beneath his skin and Steve pressed harder against his side when he caught sight of the tear that escaped Bucky’s scrunched eyes. 

“Didn’t know if it would…” he trailed off although Steve couldn’t be sure if it was because of the pain or fatigue or because he couldn’t find the words. Instead Bucky reached up, his right fingers shaking as he touched his temple. The gesture was as familiar as his expression. 

“It worked Buck” Steve promised again, hearing his own voice hitch, knowing how much Bucky needed to understand. To know that his mind was his own, that he’d been in control, that his decision had been the right one and the outcome was what he had wanted – the one Bucky Barnes would have chosen. 

“You did it, it’s over” when Bucky met his gaze again his eyes were glassy, but they belonged to Bucky in a way that Steve hadn’t witnessed in more years than he could count. This was the Bucky he had known his whole life. The one who took extra shifts to cover Steve’s medication, who kept watch as pneumonia would rack his lungs, who took care of him after his Mum had died, who would talk him up to every girl he ever met and who covered his back on the battlefield. Bucky. Relief swirled in the assassin’s eyes. 

Relief and a knowledge that he and Sam and Nat and some of the others had long been trying to convince him of, the reason Bucky had chosen to go back on ice in Wakanda. As if finally, only now, was he realising that he had won, that he was himself, that his mind was his own. Suddenly Steve felt old. The years caught up to him in a single second and he felt older than he’d ever felt. And more than a little defeated. This wasn’t the way he’d wanted Bucky to understand.

Feeling blood coating his skin, settling beneath his nails, running over his wrists, the sicky pallor that Bucky’s skin had taken on registered in Steve’s mind. His gaze snapped up to meet Sam’s who had crouched on the other side of Bucky. He wanted to yell at him for help but the pararescue’s eyes were already searching the mess before him. Steve fought the impulse to close his own eyes to avoid seeing the helplessness and knowing glint that swam in them. 

When Bucky flinched, Steve’s focus snapped back to the man and his heart dropped into his stomach when Bucky’s head rolled sideways. Somewhere in his mind he questioned if he still believed in God, an old instinct to pray bubbling up as his own helplessness threatened to consume him. He realised, however, that Bucky remained conscious and instead his eyes were searching for something…someone. Steve turned to follow his gaze. 

Tony. 

Bruce and Rhodey bracketed the man on either side and were pulling him upright steadily. Before him stood Pepper, her hands rested on Peter’s shoulders, their faces painted with similar expressions of concern and relief. Steve caught Bucky nod just slightly before turning back and drawing in a long yet shallow breath,

“Think this might be the end of the line for me punk” the words were almost inaudible, but Steve’s hearing picked up every word and etched them into his mind. He shook his head at the words, refusing them. 

“Had to make it right Stevie” and even then, Bucky’s words still sounded painful, laced with shards of guilt. Tony. Howard. Morgan.

“You’ll be okay Stevie” Bucky breathed out and Steve couldn’t formulate a response to the words Bucky had said to him hundreds of times throughout the century. He wasn’t ready. It wasn’t supposed to be Tony. And it wasn’t supposed to Bucky. He couldn’t lose him again. He couldn’t lose again. They were supposed to win this time. 

“No…Buck, keep your eyes open” he ordered, his voice every part Captain America, every part a scrawny determined Steve Rogers forcing the world to see him. Steve felt his chest turn to ash as Bucky breathed out a moment later and his eyes dropped closed. 

“No… come on jerk don’t…” Steve’s bloodied hands moved from Bucky’s side to his chest leaving red handprints on the navy material. 

“Buck… don’t… Buck” his gaze snapped upwards, desperate for help, finally asking for it. 

He hadn’t realised a group had been forming around them. He’d remained oblivious to the slow unfolding comprehension on Tony’s face as he’d taken in the carnage around him understanding what…who had managed to pull his suit apart. To finish the job. Spare his life.  
Steve didn’t see the way Peter’s face fell or hear the silence that had befallen the ground. 

He didn’t see Sam move slightly to allow room for Wanda to drop down besides Bucky’s head or acknowledge the severe expression that far from belonged on Shuri’s face. 

He barely felt Sam pull him upright to make room, and only distantly acknowledged that Tony had moved to stand on his other side – keeping him upright. He watched as a powder was poured over Bucky’s wounds, as a red glow weaved itself around him. 

He followed Bucky as he was lifted. He walked flanked by Tony and by Sam. Shield forgotten in the dust. He followed Bucky, standing guard, standing watch, as hands flew over him. It would be okay they’d been there before. 

Steve remembered standing above him in that godawful Hydra base, the first time he’d seen Bucky since he’d left for war. His body restrained; his eyes haunted. He recalled looking down at the winter soldier. Eyes absent; Bucky erased. He could still see him laying in the chamber waiting to go back on ice. His eyes knowing, self-accusing. He could still see Bucky on the stone ground knowing that Tony Stark knew everything. The guilt, self-condemnation, the anguish. He remembered Bucky being torn from nightmares. His eyes glinting in suspicion, paranoia and warning. It had all been a constant, the regret and guilt and shame that all settled within him as a self-hatred that Steve had never quite managed to pry from him. 

A hand squeezed his shoulder pulling him from his memories and he turned. Tony stood beside him, shoulder to shoulder, watching Bucky, and Steve realised the look in his eyes the same one he would get whenever he had discovered something. When he met his eyes briefly Steve found a genuine acknoweldgement in them that he realised felt just as new as what he had watched swim into Bucky’s eyes when he grasped that he’d done it, when he finally felt like he had made things right, done the right thing, when he finally understood.  
Steve drew in a long breath.  
And when he once more found Bucky’s face, he realised that the expression on James Buchanan Barnes’ face was finally, finally one of peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I’d so appreciate if you’d let me know what you think.  
> I haven't written for a while and sat down this morning to finally finish this off  
> Technically, I wrote a second chapter to this but I’m not sure if I should leave it here or not. Let me know if you'd like to read it


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